Page 9 of Bonds and Beasts

Easton, at least, has the good sense to look chagrined. "It took me a while to get to your room."

I level him with a flat stare. "It's less than fifty feet away."

Even in the low light from the oncoming storm I can see color climb up his neck. "I turned back several times. Ended up in this room and couldn't remember how I'd gotten here. I finally managed to get to your room with... effort." He holds up his left hand. His pinky finger is dislocated at an odd angle.

"Jesus," I breathe, realizing he fought off going into rut. He shrugs, winces as he pops the finger back in place, and offers his uninjured hand to help me up.

Adison

The crashing, growling, and snarling from the study abruptly stops.

Oh God, he's dead. The alpha who was trying to protect me is dead.

I should move. I should run, but the uselessness of it pulls me further into my mattress. An alpha is dead because of me. Because of my curse, my scent. I promised it would never happen again. To myself, to my parents' graves, to Mr. Clocks. My heart pounds so loud and so fast that it's all I can hear now that the fighting has stopped. I feel my body shaking the bed and can't make the tremors stop. I can't force myself to take a full breath.

Footfalls echo up the hall and I panic. That big, black-haired alpha is returning for me. A large part of me wants to simply stay still, to submit to the fate I so clearly deserve. But there's an inner voice from the person I was before who wants to live—no matter how bleak living has become.

So, with only seconds to spare, I roll off the bed, land on all fours, and flatten myself until I can squeeze beneath the ornate bed. The palm of my hand presses over my mouth as I try to suppress my ragged breathing.

My eyes are trained on the sliver of a view I have of my floor, all the way to my bedroom door, which is why I see the moment his feet step back into the doorway. I stop breathing. They pause for a second, and I know that hiding was all folly.

My scent is in the air. He'll be able to follow it straight down, under the bed. To me. Still, I stay quiet. My lungs burn with the effort not to breathe.

The feet walk to the edge of my bed, right in front of my face. A sigh above causes me to shudder. "I'm not going to hurt you."

My omega snaps and snarls within me. She's heard that line before. A low whine pours from my chest. My lips peel back from my teeth in a snarl I know will do nothing against a big muscled alpha, but maybe I can get a few swipes and bites out if he plans on grabbing me. Sure enough, a hand comes into view. With no intention of accidentally bonding him, I snap at his fingers without breaking skin. A warning to keep away. The hand is retracted quickly.

"Fuck," I hear the alpha mutter. Then his feet are gone and are replaced by knees and hands. Big strong hands that look as large as my head. He doesn't stop there. The alpha lowers himself and I immediately begin moving to the other side of the bed, ready to roll out and escape.

"Wait!" he calls.

I turn my head back without consciously choosing to. The alpha is fully on his stomach now, the right side of his cheek pressed to the cool wooden boards of my floor. He isn't reaching for me. His hands are curled into his sides as though trying to make himself appear smaller. But his hair is what ultimately catches my eye and makes me pause. He has short blonde hair parted and styled, not long and black. His skin is more sun-kissed. This isn't the alpha in rut. This is the other one. The one who said everything would be okay.

My omega scrambles, claws, and surges. She's completely lost her mind with all of these alphas around us. It's been almost a year since we've seen one, and she's both desperate and frightened beyond measure. The last time we were in a room with alphas, it left fears that still cause nightmares.

My eyes lock on his, but instead of hunger or feral lust, I find them soft, his brow furrowed in confusion, his mouth slightly open as though surprised. "Hey," he says. His voice is low and soft, as though he were talking to a very frightened but harmless animal. "I'm Dean. I'm not going to hurt you. Can you tell me your name?"

Oh how I'd like to. How I'd like to be able to open my mouth and say literally anything. But as I try, the words become jumbled on the way up, slipping through my mental grasp. All that comes out is a half whine, half sob.

Dean's expression cracks. He pushes himself closer to the edge of the underside of the bed, but I move an equal amount of space back. He pauses.

"I'm sorry. I'll stay where I am," he promises. "But please, are you hurt?"

I ponder this for a moment. I banged my knees throwing myself off the bed to get down here, and I bumped my head climbing under. But otherwise I'm fine. I manage a small shake of my head. He breathes out and I can see some of the tension leave his body. Had he been worried about my physical wellbeing after what I'd caused?

"Do you want to come out of there?" he asks. I shake my head again, firmer this time.

"Okay, that's okay. We can just lie here. Talking."

I stare at him. I wish he understood that I can't speak. After a month by myself, my voice had been lost.

"I'm Dean," he says again. "I'm renting out the rest of the manor with my pack. That other charming fellow you met is Bello. He's not usually such an asshole. If you'll believe it, he's normally the most sensible of our entire pack."

I scrunch up my eyebrows. He chuckles and the sound shoots straight to that huge, gaping hole in my soul. "Yeah, it is hard to tell, but I swear he is. He's our lead alpha."

I manage a strangled hum. I uncurl my arm from my chest and point from him to the door with what I hope is a questioning expression.

"Yeah, you're not really seeing him on one of his best days," he admits. I pull my arm back in at the reminder of what I caused. "He's not usually dangerous like that," Dean insists. I know he likely isn't, but I have no way to express this. I have no way of telling Dean that I know this is all my fault.